


Fresh Meat

by fencingfox



Series: This October Night [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Chains, F/M, Fictober 2019, Inktober 2019, Kinktober 2019, Survival, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 23:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencingfox/pseuds/fencingfox
Summary: When theCochranecrash lands among the rainforest of an unknown planet Tom and B'Elanna must learn to survive for the time being.Voyagerdoesn't know their whereabouts and they don't know if they'll ever be rescued.





	Fresh Meat

**Author's Note:**

> I picture this happening prior to any P/T in the series.

* * *

**| "Now? Now you listen to me?" | delirium | chains | bait |**

* * *

"This isn't going to work." 

"Why not? We have food for bait. We have a pressure sensor. We have cover. What about this isn't going to work?" He looks at each part of the trap when he names them before loiking back at B'Elanna. She shoots Tom a derisive glare and points to the contraption. It's a series of handmade loose links forming a long chain that wind around and into the tree's lower canopy. A small rope attachment hangs down and grazes the floor in a hidden loop. They had been dismayed that the emergency rope wasn't long enough to simultaneously reach the tree branch and the ground. B'Elanna, ever the thinker, suggested making a chain of the surrounding tree leaves. The trees of this forest are like long willow trees. They tower as high as a redwood tree but their branches spread out magnificently against the blue sky before terminating in wispy, leafy vines. They're beautiful against the typically blue sky. The vines themselves are too thin to tie directly to each other or act on their own so links of bundles seemed like the best option to them. Tom follows her finger to the bait in the center of the rope loop that's hiding under loose dirt. 

"The bait is a _ration pack_. Any self-respecting animal isn't going to eat rehydrated food." Tom shrugs. It occurs to him that, by her definition, humans and most spacefaring humanoids are not self-respecting animals. 

"We don't have anything else to offer." 

"We could always use live bait." 

"We are _not_ putting Ulna in the trap." Ulna is the small raccoon-like creature they'd found whimpering in a mass of brambles, appearing to have fallen or jumped into them, near their treehouse. It isn't a treehouse like what Tom remembered playing in as a kid with friends. More of a tent. The _Cochrane_ came with an outdoor survival kit. It includes a largish tent, but they didn't bother with setting it up properly. Instead, they'd thrown the tenting material over some lower branches, staked it into the earth and pushed dirt and rocks against most of the bottom so that it wouldn't shift too much when they went in and out of it. Tom was glad to find the material to be water proof. They'd have more trouble if they had to create shelter with regulation blankets. Not that they couldn't; the rainforest they'd crashed landed in is warm enough to do without a blanket at night. 

"Why not? She's clever enough to scamper away if something gets close." 

"If she doesn't?" 

"Then we'll chase off her attacker and eat Ulna for dinner." Tom stiffens. 

"Absolutely not." Ulna isn't like any raccoon Tom's seen. She has long forearms—more reminiscent of a monkey than a raccoon—so Tom decided to name her after one of the bones in the arm. B'Elanna didn't seem to mind. Ulna's also rather cuddly. Personality wise, Tom would describe her like an overgrown kitten. When they get around to reclining on the only comfortable surface in their tent—a pallet created from the blankets—the little raccoon likes to curl up against Tom's head, neck, and shoulder with a small, black hand on his forehead. She isn't as attached to B'Elanna, but probably for good reason if his fellow castaway wants to put her out for bait. He's grown rather attached. He's never had a cat before, but Ulna is relaxing to have around, especially after a long day of arguing with B'Elanna for the best way to survive or contact _Voyager_. He's rather exhausted by it every day since the day the _Cochrane_ crash landed. "How would we even convince her to stay in the right place?" Tom sees B'Elanna's engineering mind at work. 

"We could create a basket and string it over a tree branch. She'd sit in it and when an animal gets close, we pull her away." B'Elanna mimes the contraption and a yanking motion with her hands as she speaks. Tom thinks about it for a moment. That doesn't seem like a bad idea. He'll have control over how close Ulna's potential murderer comes. 

"Alright fine. But let's leave this here. Maybe we'll get lucky." B'Elanna scoffs as she turns for the direction of their shelter. Tom jogs to catch up and elbows her side. "Hey, it's better than leola root." This makes B'Elanna laugh. 

"Ha! I _never_ want to eat the animal that thinks _leola root_ is a good meal!" They fall into step as they tread along the path they—well, B'Elanna mostly—tore out earlier. 

"Lucky for Neelix then." He isn't sure what compels him to say it. Being trapped here with an alternating angry, cold, or bored engineer is bad enough without remembering everyone they'd left behind on _Voyager_. B'Elanna replies in a subdued tone. 

"Yeah, lucky for Neelix." Their walk stretches out in silence. When they get to their tent, Tom holds the flap open for B'Elanna and gestures for her to go first. She shakes her head. "No, I think I want to start making the basket." He shrugs. 

"Suit yourself." He crawls inside and tugs off his shirt before he lays back on the pallet. He'd given up on undershirts by the second day. The rainforest is hot and humid. The inside of their tent is worse. For it to be waterproof, it has to hold moisture at bay. Unfortunately, that means it also traps it. Predictably, when he lays back, Ulna scurries into the tent with chittering noises and curls up to his head and shoulder. The patches of fur that the brambles had torn away have filled in well. As her soft and fluffy fur presses against his ear and neck, he wonders how the small animal can stand being covered in it. Maybe that was why she'd been in the brambles last week. 

He dismisses the mystery with a sigh and places his hands on the pallet next to him. He's taking over some of B'Elanna's usual space to encourage more air flow over his body. They only shared a pallet because having one blanket each wouldn't have offered a lot of comfort. Plus, the tent is small enough that two beds wouldn't even give the illusion of separation. Ulna falls into a comfortable breathing pattern and Tom finds himself following suit. 

When he wakes up, he feels sickly. Muscles clench and unclench involuntarily. He tries calling for B'Elanna and finds his throat too dry for words. He wonders how long he'd slept. He tries again. 

"B'Elanna?" He croaks. 

"She can't hear you." The voice isn't B'Elanna. It's coming from the furry Ulna against his head. The raccoon had turned over in her sleep and now had her back to Tom. 

"I didn't know you could talk," he whispers because that's easier on his throat. 

"That's because I don't. You need to speak up before you die." That confuses him. What does she mean, she doesn't talk? She's talking now. And what about dying? Is he dying? 

"B'Elanna?" He licks his lips. "Help." He closes his eyes against the sharp throbing that accompanies speaking louder. He hears the door flap swish open and enjoys the brief breeze it offers. 

"Tom, you're all red. Are you okay?" He opens his eyes with some difficulty. The lids feel heavy and sticky. 

"Water." He'd meant to say, 'I need water,' but the first two words were swallowed by his dry throat. 

"Alright, give me a moment." The door flap sways softly at her departure, providing a very slight breeze. She returns and crawls inside with a canteen in her hand. She helps Tom sit up with a grimace. Ulna awakens and scurries over to Tom's feet to watch. "You're burning up." He acknowledges her concern with a nod, and takes the canteen. When he drinks the whole thing, he pulls it from his lips with a satisfied sigh. 

"Heat stroke I think. I'm a little batty." He gestures with the canteen clumsily before laying back down with a thump; his body is still weak, "Ulna was talking earlier." 

"Turn on your side." It's Ulna again. Tom laughs hysterically. Now she's giving orders and it's making him anxious. Tom looks at his side where Ulna has gone to chitter at him again. She seems wary to curl against him now. "Do it." Her lips don't move, but he hears her voice. Tom rolls onto his side to face Ulna. 

"Are you telepathic?" 

"What? No." Tom can't see it, but B'Elanna shakes her head. Ulna doesn't answer him. His body starts to shake uncontrollably without warning. Dimly, Tom recognizes that he's having a seizure. He hears B'Elanna gasp behind him. "Tom, what do I do?" She sounds panicked and with all the clarity of a foggy morning he remembers he's the medic. He's not supposed to get sick. The tent slides away from him. His feet feel the cooler rainforest air before his legs. His hips feel it next. Then his chest and arms do. Finally, cool, fresh air caresses his face. B'Elanna stops dragging the pallet. She strips off her shirt and pours water on it from another canteen next to the tent. She dabs his side and neck with the cloth, keeping a hand on his hips to prevent him from rolling back over. Tom hears Ulna chitter frantically somewhere above his head. He focuses on keeping his jaw locked so he doesn't accidentally bite his tongue. Eons later, his body stills. "Tom?" He's aware of the placement of her hands: one on his hip and the other still pressing a wet cloth to his waist. He rolls onto his back. Her hands retreat. 

"Sorry." 

"You didn't set out to have a seizure." He looks at her, jealous that even while wearing two layers most of the time, she's hardly sweating—he squints at her collarbone—if at all. It dawns on him how cold she must think _Voyager_ to be. 

"No, but I insisted on keeping the windows perpetually closed in case of rain." She shrugs. 

"Now?" She pauses briefly. "Now you listen to me?" There's an unsaid 'finally' and perhaps even an implied, 'I told you so'. Tom nods. He certainly doesn't want a repeat of what just happened. He sits up, bringing himself eyelevel with B'Elanna. His body is turned slightly toward her. With a glance at her lips and then her eyes to judge if she'd noticed, he quickly scoots himself back with his hands on his butt and rises slowly. Ulna walks calmly around his feet on all fours, looking happy to see he's okay. 

"Did you finish the basket?" She nods. Tom wonders faintly if that's a blush on her cheeks. Then he asks himself whether it's heat related or _heat_ related. He swallows nervously. 

"I did. Think you can coax her inside?" 

"I think so." He kneels with his back to B'Elanna. Ulna comes to him immediately and nuzzles her head against his outstretched palm. "Hey girlie." He shifts his hands to scoop her into his arms. The raccoon reclines in his arms like a baby, content with eyes closed, as he stands. "Where's your basket?" He turns around. B'Elanna eyes him and his 'baby' appreciatively. Something flashes across her face. He'd love to know what it meant. She stammers. 

"O-over here." She crawls to a ball of young, bent branches held together with bundles of willow vines. She holds it up, sitting on her heels, and presents the opening, undoing the latch as she speaks. "She goes in here, and the vine chain attaches to these points here," she points to three sturdy branch crosses, "so we can pull her up." Tom looks down at Ulna and then instinctively bounces her lightly. "Y-you're good at that. Holding her I mean." This time when Tom looks at her, B'Elanna is definitely blushing. So she'd been looking at him with babies on her mind earlier. Tom manages to suppress a grin when he considers it seems a bit early to fancy themselves the next Adam and Eve. But, if he can have an affectionate B'Elanna, he isn't about to make her change her mind. He shrugs and shifts Ulna so she'll go into the basket. She goes surprisingly willingly and settles herself in a ball at the bottom looking at him as if to say, 'this is very cozy'. Tom closes the opening. He's glad B'Elanna made it out of branches; Ulna won't overheat that way. 

"It's not a big deal." 

"Not many men are willing to hold a baby." He raises an eyebrow at her choice of words and smirks. He just can't resist. 

"Are you offering to make me a baby to hold?" To his pleasure, she blushes deeply and looks away. 

"I'm not s-saying—Tom, you pig." She hesitates. "But if _Voyager_ never finds us, then, uh, maybe." Well that's a surprise. Is it wrong that he doesn't want _Voyager_ to find them anymore? He takes the ball of branches out of her arms and cradles it to his chest. 

"I'm holding you to that 'maybe'. But for now, let me take you to dinner." He's unreasonably proud about his turn of phrase. She scoffs; the phrasing isn't lost on her. He expects her to retort but instead she follows him into the uncharted wilderness.


End file.
